


Change of Edge

by TheSpaceCoyote



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Ice Skating AU, M/M, YOI-inspired, coach!Jack, skater!Rhys, sorry for my lack of knowledge about skating things this was a gift haha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 13:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11715582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSpaceCoyote/pseuds/TheSpaceCoyote
Summary: "It’s a wobbly and rocky start as his unused muscles struggle to remember how to skate, but after a couple moments of acclimation Jack’s able to push off from the cold railing, joining Rhys near the center where the young man has been waiting, sliding around in lazy circles.Rhys leads Jack in a long, easy skate around the edge of the rink, looking over his shoulder with a giggling smirk as the older man trails behind him, steadily holding his own. Jack doesn’t think about the way Rhys’ eyes glimmer in the overhanging lights of the rink, nor how much pinker Rhys’ lips are thanks to the chill of the ice and the exertion of the skating. Not at all."----Ice Skating AU where Rhys is a professional skater and Jack is his coach!





	Change of Edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hedgehog3000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hedgehog3000/gifts).



> Gift for a friend from awhile back, who wanted a Yuuri on Ice-inspired AU but with Jack and Rhys instead! 
> 
> Kind of long but it pays off with some nsfw, so hey! Enjoy!

Jack’s knees hurt.

He keeps his back straight and his hands in his pockets as he subtly tries to shift from foot to foot to keep the pain balanced between both legs. When it starts to build on one side he moves to the other, until it becomes to painful—or rather, just  _annoying_ , he’s no wiener, he can take a little wear and tear pain without needing to sit down. Or use a friggin’  _cane_ , like Tim had suggested last week. A suggestion that had ended up with Jack threatening to bench press his younger brother right then and there, which had been profusely denied by Tim, who had rolled his eyes and told Jack he should take it down a notch before he had a heart attack.  

Whatever. Jack doesn’t have time to sit down or fuck around with canes or whatever other kind of advice people keep chucking in his direction.

Jack has a superstar to train.

….A superstar who is currently running about ten minutes late to his own training session.

Jack pulls his phone out of his pockets, raising his eyebrows at the lack of messages from Rhys. There’s one from Tim asking him how late he’ll be, and one from Nisha about whether he’d be down for getting drinks on Friday, but nothing from his student. The last text he’s gotten from Rhys is from about an hour ago, telling Jack that he’d just gotten dressed and would be heading over soon. The older man bites his lip, trying to stamp down the little twinge of worry that’s wormed up into his chest. Jack’s about to bite the bullet and just call the kid, when suddenly his phone buzzes in his palm, the display alighting with a message from “Rhysie.”

_> Sorry!!! D: Bus was late im coming in right now!!_

Jack snickers softly at the kid’s message, before pocketing his phone.

“ _Rhyssiiiiiieeee!_  Baby, c’mere.” Jack whistles, waving when the man of the hour finally bumbles his way through the entrance to the rink, bag slung over his shoulder and skating laces clenched in one hand. The flustered young man’s face breaks out into a pleased grin when he sees his coach, and he waves back

“You better not be late to the real deal, cupcake. If I gotta, I’m gonna be driving you myself to the arena.” Jack claps the kid on the shoulder.

“Oh please,” Rhys scoffs, eyes sparkling with mirth, “when have I ever actually been late to a competition?”

Jack raises an eyebrow. Rhys stares at him for a moment, before frowning and canting his hip.

“ _Okay_ , Tokyo was  _definitely_  your fault!”

“My fault?” Jack snorts derisively.

“Yeah, your fault for not learning basic Japanese…not even enough to read a subway map…”

“Hey! I didn’t think the ISU were gonna skimp out on private transportation for us! Besides, that was like what, two years ago? Forgive and forget, kiddo.”

“Uh- _huh_ , sure.” Rhys rolls his eyes as he slides his bag off his shoulder and sets it on the bench, running his hand through his slightly tousled hair and smoothing the errant bangs off of his forehead.

“At least we’ve got some home court advantage this year. Gotta say I’m a little tired of jet lag…” Rhys tugs his skates out of his bag, quickly lacing them on before stretching out his legs.

“Yeah, yeah, bitch n’ moan. We still gotta fly to Colorado, kiddo.”

“Yeah, but I’ll take a three hour flight over a sixteen hour one any day,” Rhys chuckles as he ambles over to the entrance to the ice, casting a glance over his shoulder, “so? You gonna watch me?”

“Yeah, pumpkin,” Jack chuckles as he shifted his stiff legs, striding after his young charge, “show me what you got.”

* * *

Rhys is amazing to watch on the ice. Jack has seen hundreds of skaters come and go in his time, with a myriad of styles and techniques and aesthetics, but there’s little that can hold a candle to the grace and power and utter dominance of the ice that Rhys expresses in the intricacy of his movement. Rhys makes it look so damn effortless, like he is flowing through water rather than air. It’s kind of funny, considering how clumsy and goofy the kid went about with respect to his daily antics. He’d definitely caught Rhys tripping over his own socks in his hotel room once, for example. Or nearly chipping his teeth while trying to eat a spoonful of ice cream. Or leaving his prosthetic on his nightstand. There are an endless amount of examples that he could cite.

But none of that seems to matter as soon as Rhys glides over the ice like fog over a lake. His movements are effortless, skates cutting though preexisting grooves, his own momentum guiding him in a sleek path through his elegant program.

Honestly, Jack kind of loses himself when it comes to watching Rhys, forgetting that he’s supposed to be the kid’s coach, aloof and professional, focused mostly on getting the kid to the top while keeping him hale and healthy. And yet here he is watching the young man practice, only vaguely noting the areas he needs to improve and sharpen up on but mostly just enjoying the elegance and strength of Rhys’ routine as he cuts through the ice like a knife.

_Oh yeah_. His kid is gonna go right to the top and  _stay_ there.

“What do you think?” Rhys says with a breathless smile as he slides right up to the railing Jack’s leaning on, a shower of ice hissing against his skates as he grinds to a stop. Jack’s teeth glimmer underneath the bright lights of the rink as he answers Rhys with a firm clap.

“Bravo, kiddo,  _bravo_. Givin’ me chills over here, jeez.” His chest hums brightly in the usual excitement that blossoms whenever he witnesses one of his student’s routines.

“Thanks,  _old man_ ,” Rhys needles as he leaned over the railing, elbows resting on the cold metal surface, “you wanna see me do it again?”

“Sure, give it another go, and try to get a little more speed before the third toe jump, okay?” Rhys nods, shooting a finger gun to return Jack’s own as he slides back out to the center of the ice.  

* * *

“So, I’ve been thinking, kiddo,” Jack brings up one evening after practice, when Rhys is dabbing at his sweaty forehead at the side of the rink. He slings the towel around his neck, sitting and unlacing his skates before looking up at Jack’s question.

“Yeah? What’s up?” Rhys kicks off his skates, picking them up by the laces and setting them on the bench next to him. Jack passes him a fresh, cool bottle of water, which Rhys gulps down with relish.

“Well, you’ve been working your ass off, lately, and I figured I should reward ya for it,” Jack eases himself down next to Rhys, sipping on his own water. Hey, he may not be the one out there busting his butt on the ice, but talking and shouting all evening sure got his throat sore.

Rhys pops his lips off the water bottle with a small grin, looking at Jack sidelong.

“Thanks, but winning the Grand Prix Final will be more than enough reward….”

Jack snorts, rolling his eyes.

“Okay,  _dumbass,_ just reject my present before I even tell you what it is.”

Rhys giggles, his breath misting in the cool of the arena.

“Okay, then what is it?”

Jack sticks out his lower lip, shaking his head.

“ _Nah_ , Rhysie, you lost your chance! I’m gonna have to find another cute, talented little skater to show off my awesome reward to.”

“Awwww, c’mon Jack, I was just kidding!” Rhys looks at him with a sliver of actual pleading in his eyes, his lips stuck out in a genuine pout to match Jack’s faux one. Jack can’t help but crack a grin at that as he slides out his phone, pulling up the browser window he’d been looking at the night before.

“You heard about this?” Jack tilts the phone in Rhys’ direction, sliding through a couple of photos to show the young man. “It’s at the Ventana al Atlantico hotel on the shore. Every winter they set up a skating rink on the beach…it’s just a dorky little thing but…I thought you might like that…so I made some reservations…” Jack scratches the back of his neck as he waits for Rhys’ reply. Hell, maybe he won’t be into it, or maybe he already has plans, or maybe it’s just awkward to go out somewhere with your coach, but—

“Ohhh, I’ve heard about this! I’ve always wanted to go but I dunno. Guess I just really never had anyone else to go with it too.” Rhys gingerly takes the phone from Jack’s hand, flipping through the photos of the rink with the warm sand and sleet blue water of the ocean behind it.

“Yeah, they serve some food and junk too, so I thought that maybe we could try it out, get a bite to eat, y’know, just something casual. What do you say?”

“I say it sounds great….nice to relax a little bit before we have to go…” Rhys gets up, swinging his duffle bag over his shoulder, flashing Jack that winner’s smile.

“Cool. Pick you up at 4 tomorrow.”

* * *

Rhys keeps taking sidelong glances over at Jack from his seat in the passenger’s side of the car as they drive out of the immediate sprawl of the city, past the suburbs and towards the shoreline. Jack pretends not to notice the way the kid’s watching him, even though Rhys makes no big secret of it. At least until Rhys’ hands start wandering over the console, brushing his fingers over the stereo until Jack slaps it away.

“Chill, kiddo, I get that you get fidgety in the car but we’re keeping it on oldies for now.”

“Ugh, Jack, why do we always have to listen to the same thing when you drive…like, newsflash, it’s not the 1970s anymore.”

“Scuse you, cupcake, this song was released in 19 _81_.” Jack wags his finger admonishingly at the kid, before turning up the volume just to rub salt in the wound. Rhys sticks his tongue out at him, before turning and looking out the window instead.  

In little time they reach the shoreline, pulling up in the parking lot of a massive, red and white Victorian style hotel. Rhys’ eyes brighten up at the sight, the myriad of string lights adorning the outside facade of the building reflecting back against the windows of the car in the early dusk. He turns away from the window, looking at Jack with a cheeky grin as he parks the car and turns off the ignition.

“Oh god….don’t tell me you booked us a hotel room here or something…” Jack lets out a loud laugh as he steps out of the car, slamming the door behind him before walking with Rhys towards the hotel entrance.

“C’mon, kiddo, what kind of a guy d’ya take me for? No idiot coach would try to screw his prize pupil right before the biggest chance of his career.”

“Eww, Jack, no.” Rhys shudders playfully, before bouncing over to the front desk to rent out a pair of skates for the both of them. Jack slides his card over to the counter just as Rhys is scrambling for his wallet, ignoring the kid’s protesting gape as the cashier rings them up for the rental.

“ _My_  treat, kiddo, thought I made that clear.”

“I know…I just wanted to help a little…” Rhys frowns, taking his skates from the clerk and slinging them over his shoulder.

“How ‘bout you pick up my bar tab later?” Jack teases, grabbing his own pair and tossing a quick  _thanks_  and a wink over his shoulder.

They carry their skates through the lobby of the hotel and to the back entrance, which leads out onto the beach. Rhys’ eyes glitter when he sees the vast expanse of sand and sea and sky, though his attention’s quickly drawn to the small skate rink that has been set up on the seam between the grass lawn of the hotel grounds and the beach. It’s sweetly decorated, with little garlands and lights strung along rink’s barrier and hanging above to bathe the rink in a soft glow despite the coming twilight.

“Awww, isn’t this a pretty picture? Looks just like the website.” Jack pats Rhys on the lower back, encouraging him forward towards one of the many benches ringing the rink.

It has been a long time since Jack has been on any kind of ice. He’d tried to keep it up at least recreationally over the years since he’d officially retired from competition, but with the recent pain in his legs he found it hard to do any vigorous exercise at all, much less skating. Still, when he laces on those skates and smells the mingle of the salt air and the shaved hiss of the ice, he feels his heart beat hard in excitement.

It’s a wobbly and rocky start as his unused muscles struggle to remember how to skate, but after a couple moments of acclimation Jack’s able to push off from the cold railing, joining Rhys near the center where the young man has been waiting, sliding around in lazy circles.

Rhys leads Jack in a long, easy skate around the edge of the rink, looking over his shoulder with a giggling smirk as the older man trails behind him, steadily holding his own. Jack doesn’t think about the way Rhys’ eyes glimmer in the overhanging lights of the rink, nor how much pinker Rhys’ lips are thanks to the chill of the ice and the exertion of the skating. Not at all.

Jack lasts a lot longer than he’d expected, getting in at least a good hour of skating before his leg starts to protest in earnest. Even as the pangs of pain shake up his calf he keeps a smile on his face, matching Rhys’ flippant insults with goading replies of his own, determined to show Rhys that he isn’t  _completely_ washed out, not quite yet. Still, as the sun begins to creep to the horizon Jack could no longer ignore the throbbing pain in his leg and he quickly skates back over to the railing,

“Tapping out already, old man?” Rhys teases as he skates to a halt near Jack, hands on his hips. Jack kicks out at him in jest, taking a deep breath.

“S-Shut up, kiddo, I could skate circles around you  _any day_.”

“Any day, huh? Then why not today?”

“Cause I’m hungry as fuck, kiddo, and I wanna take up that beer that you owe me.” Jack sneers as he hobbles out of the exit towards one of the benches, sitting down and quickly unlacing his skates. After a moment’s hesitation and a longing look back to the ice, Rhys follows, sitting next to his coach and quickly exchanging the skates for those pair of leather boots that Jack found  _super_  tacky.

A little patio stands to the left of the skate rink, propped up above the white sand by tiny little wooden supports. The area is decorated in a variety of tables and capped with strings of fairy lights suspended on long poles, now glowing softly against the slowly fading day. As soon as they return their skates, Jack is leading the way towards the little area, quickly getting them a rustic little table graced by candles flickering in little stone holders.  

Jack orders himself an IPA, while Rhys chooses one of their specialty fruity drinks and a couple of small plate appetizers. Jack kicks a leg over his knee, relaxing back and tilting his chin up to the sky, looking at the streaks of dying sunlight glimmering over the receding clouds.

“It’s funny, you know…” Jack murmurs, eyes falling back to the table when the waiter arrives with their drinks, “…how much you remind me of myself. When I see you out there.”

Rhys snorts, lifting his bright, reddish pink drink to his lips and taking a short sip.

“You gettin’ sentimental on me, old man?”

“Oh, shut it,” Jack huffs as he nudges at Rhys’ foot under the table, downing a mouthful of his beer, “I’m being  _serious_. You really do look and act like I did back then…admittedly…with a better sense of fashion.

Rhys nearly splutters on his drink, a little drizzle of red spilling down the corner of his mouth.

“R-Really? Wow….Jack, I think that’s the first time you’ve actually  _complimented_  my clothing choice…”

“Yeah, well, I should dig up those old pictures of me in some of my former outfits, then you can see where I’m coming from.  _Anything_  would look good next to that.” Their conversation stalls briefly as the waiter returnes with their food, plates piled high with chicken skewers, veggie dumplings and a magnificent shrimp cocktail. Rhys sets about quickly stuffing his face, hiding his mouth behind a napkin as he tried to speak.

“I mean, I’ve seen your competition photos from before, and they didn’t look  _that_  bad.”

“Nah, pumpkin, I’m talking about the  _real_  old stuff that hasn’t seen the light of day outside a local newspaper thirty years ago. I ditched the bright gold jumpsuit once I figured out that I didn’t want the whole nation seeing my glittery junk.”

Rhys swallows his food and makes an aghast face.

“Oh god,  _no_.”

“Oh yes, pumpkin, believe it or not I had even less shame back then than I do now.” Jack snickers as he pulls a piece of chicken from a skewer, chewing thoughtfully.  

“Really? I can’t imagine that…you must’ve been a real degenerate back then.” Rhys jokes, draining half of his drink in a long gulp. Jack’s amused expression flickers slightly at that.

“Yeah, well, you’d think that by the way my grandma talked about it. Thought skating was….let’s just say she didn’t think it was something a  _guy_  should be doing.” Jack growls, tapping his fingers against the glass. Rhys’ grin falters.

“I….I didn’t mean it like that…” The kid’s eyes fall, shame hung in his face.

“I know you didn’t kiddo…just reminded me of…let’s just say I’m glad I got out when I did.”

“I….I’m glad you did too…” Rhys looks away sheepishly, unsure of how to respond, “I’m sorry all that happened…”

“Eh. Wasn’t your fault. Guess I’ve….I dunno. I deal with it.” Jack sighs, reaching forward to grasp Rhys’ chin between his thumb and forefinger, directing the kids eyes back towards him. “Hey, hey, it’s not your responsibility to fix me, kiddo. Don’t feel bad.”

Jack can feel the stickiness of the alcohol Rhys has dripped against the boy’s chin, and he blinks in clarity as he realizes just how close he has pulled the kid in. The fairy lights hang like fireflies about Rhys’ head, the wire holding them swinging softly in the ocean breeze. Jack’s eyes flick briefly over the kid’s fine features, taking in the soft lips, now reddened with drink, before letting his hand fall to the table. He licks his own lips, finding himself unable to move back to his original slouch for some reason. Rhys is looking at him, searching his own face, waiting for Jack to say something to justify the proximity.

“Okay…Rhysie, I gotta tell….I’ll be honest….I think you can win the whole damn thing. And that’s not the coach talking. That’s twenty year old Jack weighing up his rivals. You can do it.”

Rhys scoffs softly. Jack can feel the warmth of his breath on his cheek.

“I mean, yeah, it would be  _awesome_ , but I’ve tried to keep things realistic like….these are the best skaters in the  _world_.”

“So?” Jack raises his eyebrow. “What makes you think you aren’t the best skater in the world, pumpkin?”

Rhys squirms in his seat, looking to his sadly empty glass as if begging it for a magic refill.

“Just…I don’t know if I’m good enough to beat everyone…”

“ _I_  won it, kiddo, so if you’ve learned anything at all from me then it’ll be a frikkin’ cakewalk.”

“I guess I just…I kind of worry that the same thing that happened at the European Nationals is going to happen here…” Rhys admits shyly, prompting Jack to grimace in memory.

“Well that….that was  _years_  ago, kitten. Things have changed….I don’t have to yell at as many people for telling me that you look…”

“Inelegant?” Rhys frowns, holding up his right hand and turning the metallic prosthetic. “Because of this?”

“Okay, that judge was an  _asshole_  and I definitely fixed him.” Jack growls, fingers clenching into his beer. It still pisses him right off that someone had  _dared_  to say something like that to his Rhysie. The arm is a  _part_ of him and doesn’t make Rhys less of a skater. The kid has proved that over and over again.

“But…”

“But  _nothing_ , pumpkin, listen to me.” Jack takes an emboldening swig of his beer, before leaning further over the table until Rhys has no choice but to look at him.

“As much as  I hate to admit it, kiddo….I’m old. My body friggin’ hurts like a taint all the dang time. Some mornings if it’s too cold I can barely walk, and I just tell Tim I was out drinking and wanna sleep in or some shit, and I dunno how convincing it is.”

“I see you….I see you out there…and I see  _me_ , pumpkin. I see what I was like at your age, and maybe it’s just a frikkin’ ego trip but I  _believe_  you can do it.” Jack runs his hand down his chin.

“Jeez, motivational speeches are like,  _totally_  my thing but I feel like I’m shooting blanks right now…”  Ad of course Rhys is looking at him with a forlorn touch in his expression that just  _begs_  for encouraging. Jack huffs, palming his chin as he leans forward on his elbow.

“Just…hate to say it, but the sun’s kind of set on me. I ain’t gonna ever stand up on any more podiums, no more gold medals, no more photoshoots and interviews. I’m history, kid. But you, Rhysie….you could make it. Maybe ol’ Jack’s time is up but….kid, if you stick with this, then he can still live through you.”

A long silence stretches out between them, Rhys’ face impassive to the point where Jack winces.

“God, okay, that sounded really frikkin’ corny. Over here talking with some Lion King bullcrap or something. Just, uh…” Jack takes a distracting sip of his beer, “…just forget it, ‘kay pumpkin?”

Another silence follows, and Jack wonders if he should excuse himself to go to the bathroom and just toss in the whole motivational towel, when the younger man speaks up.

“No, you’re right.” A small, secretive smile passes Rhys lips as he presses the edge of his glass against his lips and smacks them loudly.

“I  _am_  going to win.”

* * *

The day of the Grand Prix Final Jack can barely function out of nerves.

The flight to Colorado had been hell, like all flights usually were for him. He hated the cramped, recycled space, even more so now that his body liked to fall apart at random like a stack of wet newspapers. After the second hour Jack was already done with a capital D with being crammed into an airplane, and they  _still_  had a connecting flight in Nashville.

For the first time in his life Jack had dropped nine bucks on one of those shitty airline cocktails.

The air in Colorado is crisp with ozone and hints of snow that’d yet to be fallen, and Jack  _really_  hopes it’ll take it’s sweet time in coming because the last thing he needs is to get into some kind of car accident with Rhys due to crappy weather conditions. If they’d come all this way only for Rhys to get injured at the last second, Jack was sure he’d never forgive himself.

He’d driven them from the airport like the rental car had tires made of eggshells, double checking each intersection to the point where Rhys had moaned and smacked him on the arm and told him to go faster, because he too was tired of cramped spaces and little legroom. When they’d finally gotten to the hotel the first thing Rhys did was run a bath and stubbornly order an ice cream sundae via room service despite Jack’s misgivings.

A couple scant days of sightseeing quickly gives in to last-minute training and sizing up the competition. Many are individuals Jack has either heard of, or who Rhys has directly competed against in the past. He’s beaten some and lost to others, and though can admit that their form and routines are top notch, he still feels like if any one can win it all, it’s  _his_ boy.

When Rhys’ name is called—the last up, just to fuck with Jack’s nerves, naturally—and he skates out onto the ice, Jack can practically feel the breath that puffs out of the young man’s lips. The black spandex of his outfit clings to every contour of his body, blue crystals glimmering in the light along his spine, wrists, and sternum. Jack’s chest is tight and his head feels fuzzy and he might actually be having a heart attack right now, and if he is then he’s never gonna hear the end of it from the kid.

But his anxiety melts away the moment that the music begins to play and Rhys starts to move.

The routine is flawless. It leaves Jack’s lips dry and his clothes tight. It turns the sweat on the back of his neck to ice just as his face flushes with awe.

Jack wants Judge McTaintFace to be here to cram his own words about Rhys’ “inelegance” down his throat, because Rhys floats on the ice like he’s a god dancing on water, the natural curve of his body bending to the perfect trill and swell of the music.  

It’s great. It’s  _beyond_  great. Jack just prays it will be enough.

He greets Rhys with encouragement and a firm pat on the shoulder when he returns to the sidelines, but the young man is far too nervous to engage in much conversation, eyes fixed on the screens and video feed of judging hung all about the rink.

When Rhys’ score is finally posted, Jack’s heart nearly stops, and he wonders if his ticker had really kicked the bucket earlier and this was some kind of heaven, but then Tim is tugging on his arm and the crowd is erupting, Rhys’ little group of friends exploding in a roar of cheers and whistles and screams and as Jack watches, Rhys turns around to look at him, and his cheeks and lips are flushed pink and his eyes are sparkling in happiness.

Jack’s mind is light and dizzy and when Rhys finally runs that last little distance between him, Jack musters up all the strength he has to grab the kid by the waist and lift him clean into the air, spinning him around with a wild chuckle.

The ceremony and the flurry of interviews and cameras passes in a daze, and Jack is sure he probably said something stupid in the fugue, but it barely matters. He keeps getting distracted by the way Rhys is absolutely  _glowing_  in pride, his face pink and flushed and his eyes sparkling with joy to match his scintillating outfit.

He only feels himself come back to earth when he follows Rhys into the solitary locker room long after most of the other contestants had left. For the first time in hours, it’s nearly dead quiet, and Jack feels something pulling at him, goading him to get closer to the kid.

The golden medal hangs around Rhys’ neck like it has always meant to be there, the light glinting along the carved image as Rhys’ thin chest rises and falls.

“Jack…” Rhys still sounds breathless, “I don’t know what to say…”

Jack keeps his arms folded loosely over his chest as he ambles over to Rhys, slipping into his personal space. The young man’s hands fidget lightly in front of his stomach, and the both of them stand at arms length, shyly avoiding each other’s glance. Jack’s eyes fall to the medal hanging around Rhys’ neck, following the silky aqua ribbon up to the expose cream of Rhys’ clavicle. He has no idea where Rhys is looking, but he gets a pretty good clue about what the kid is feeling when cold hands cup his face and tip it upwards until his lips are meeting Rhys’ in a warm, tender seal.

The ice is like salt and steel in Jack’s mouth, and he can taste the warmth of Rhys’ tongue contrasted with the cool of his lips and it’s perfect, it’s just as perfect as he had been imagining all along.

He slides his hands over Rhys’ body, feeling the thing spandex layer so close to Rhys’ flesh it’s like a second skin, wet with melting crystals sheared from the ice and Jack almost wants to see if he can tear through it with his nails, but he knows well enough how much these things can cost and he needs not add another concern to stack of new problems he is building between their hot lips, their desperate greedy touches. His finger catches on a silvery rhinestone near Rhys’ hip and he presses down, firmly, pinning the crystal through the fabric against the slight plush of his flesh and Rhys’ gasps against his lips as Jack’s hands work around to his ass to grasp it firmly in both hands, massaging and separating the solid cheeks caught in the sheer fabric. The power in those strong muscles that have learned to land perfectly on one long, elegant leg flexes underneath his hands, Rhys’ strength and determination and utter sensuality defiantly writ underneath the man’s softness.

It’s good, it’s so good, but the locker room smells like other people’s sweat and the wooden bench is probably gonna be uncomfortable against Jack’s bare ass.

“W-Wait,” Jack pulls back, though he’s nearly drawn back down as Rhys’ mouth follows him, chasing Jack with pink lips and a bright red tongue, and the push of Jack’s hands against the kid’s hips is the only thing that saves him. Rhys lets out a protesting whine, trying to shimmy closer against the bulk of his coach, but Jack stays him as he pressed the cool plastic of the hotel card key against his lips.

“Champions deserve to get screwed in much better digs.”

* * *

Present Jack is lucky that Past Jack had had the foresight—and paranoia—to personally pick up and drive Rhys from the hotel to the arena.

He wouldn’t have been able to keep his hands off of Rhys, presence of a potentially mouthy chaperone be damned. He isn’t exactly ready to risk his professional reputation, but at the same time his libido had been ignited and wouldn’t have liked to been staved off for the ten minutes it took to get to their hotel. He keeps one hand on the wheel, the other stroking and rubbing and squeezing Rhys’ thigh, sometimes even daring to grope at the young man’s crotch. Rhys’ hardness against the spandex of his outfit is thrilling, making Jack’s blood pump hard in his ears, nearly distracting him from the road. But finally, after what seems like  _way_  too long, the two of them are sprinting out of the car, mashing the buttons in the thankfully solitary elevator as they ravenously devour each other’s mouths. Jack nearly throws off his jacket when they finally enter their hotel room, and he’s working on unbuckling his pants when Rhys backs him up into the bed, until his knees bump into the frame and he sat with a  _thump_ onto the blankets.

“Rhysie…”

Jack’s voice hangs in a hoarse question between the space that rapidly shrinks as Rhys plants himself in Jack’s lap, straddling him as his slim arms go to wind about Jack’s neck. Before the older man can get any words out Rhys’ lips are crashing against his own, tongue immediately granting itself entrance as Rhys works his mouth against Jack’s. Moans start up in both of their throats, melding into each other in the humid air shared in gasps between their lips. When Jack pulls away, it’s only because a moment longer would’ve probably made his lungs burst.

“I wanna….I wanna see that same passion you have on the ice, kiddo…please?” Jack asks breathlessly, running his hands up Rhys’ thighs. The young man leans forward, planting both hands on Jack’s chest, leaning in. His breath is suddenly a warm whisper against Jack’s neck, making the older man shiver.

Rhys’ tongue undulates in pretty patterns, elegant lines and figure-eights over Jack’s throat, tracing the race of his pulse until he presses his teeth into his skin. Jack closes his eyes with a moan, content to trust the outside world and his state of dress entirely to Rhys as he feels long fingers make quick work of his dress shirt, letting it flap to the side like flayed ribs as Jack opens up everything to Rhys. Muscle laid up under soft flesh. Hard pieces of old, old scar laced with peppered hair and new freckles from the trip to California Tim had taken him on last summer.  

He thinks Rhys would like California a whole lot. Jack figures the kid has earned a proper trip.

Just after Jack is done fucking his brains out.

“Jack?” Rhys whispers, snapping the man back into reality, “do you have any um….stuff?”

“Stuff?” Jack furrowed his eyebrows dumbly, before he realized exactly what Rhys was asking for. “Oh, yeah, uh…look in the front pocket of my bag…”

He feels a little empty as Rhys pulls of of him. He quickly slips his pants and his underwear down to his ankles as he watches Rhys bend over and rifle through his back, quickly coming up with a bottle of lube and a condom package. He casts a smug, somewhat surprised look over his shoulder at the man on the bed.

“ _What_?”

“Did you plan on something happening on this trip?” Rhys’ smile curls deviously at the edges, before he starts to properly disrobe himself, peeling the skating outfit off and letting it fall to the floor.

“Shut up, kiddo, for all you know I could’ve been planning to get down with some hot little escort to celebrate….or fuck my disappointment into…” He yelps as a naked Rhys leaps on the bed, nearly kneeing him in the crotch as he crawles on top of him, pushing a finger against Jack’s lips.

“Mmmm, no, I don’t think I would’ve let that happen….I’ve been wanting this for  _waaaay_  too long.” Rhys admits as he tears at the foil packet of the condom, letting the lube bottle fall against the sheets for now.

“Really?” Jack asks as he snags the condom from Rhys’, ignoring the young man’s pout.

“Yeah, really. You might be an old fart and a total asshole, but…I’ve always had a thing for silver foxes…” Rhys’ blush crosses over the bridge of his nose in a way Jack finds frikkin’  _sweet_.

“Kiddo, as sexy as it might be to see you put this on me, I’m not patient enough to wait around while you try to hold it in your mouth.” He snickers with a wink as he slides the condom over his erect cock. Rhys rolls his eyes, pushing Jack back down and re-straddling his hips.

“Maybe  _next time_ , then,” he purrs, and Jack’s cock jumps at the possibility of next time though it hadn’t even gotten wet  _this_  time.

The lube bottled pops in Rhys hand as he drizzles the slick fluid over his fingers, a little bit dripping carelessly on Jack’s stomach as Rhys turns about, trying to figure the best angle to properly open himself up, and just as Jack is about to offer to prep him instead Rhys arches his pale form back, stretching out the muscles in his chest and belly as he slides his fingers over his ass and between his cheeks. It’s all hidden from Jack’s eye, leaving Rhys’ little moans and the twitches in his features the only indicators that the kid is properly fucking himself on his fingers. But god, it’s all that Jack needs. Rhys’ body bends like a bow pulled taut, showing off the athleticism in his form as he bucks his hips back against his hand. Jack can’t take it, and before long he’s grabbing at the kid’s hips, unbalancing him as he pulls him forward, Rhys falling with a small cry against Jack’s chest as the older man’s mouth hunts down his lips and sunk in deep.

Jack can see now, above the kid’s shoulder, where Rhys’ fingers are still awkwardly stuck halfway inside him, he can see the way the shrouded, amber moonlight from outside shines on the lube messily spread over his cheeks and hand.

“You…” Rhys breaths as he pulls away, saliva dripping between their mouths, “need to be more  _patient_ …” Jack smirks, letting Rhys pull his hands away from his waist and pin them back against the bed.

“I  _know_  you like to be in charge, but….well…don’t you want to see my ‘routine’?” He purrs as he straightens up, lifting his hips until his ass is hovering just above Jack’s cock. He shifts his hips in a gentle circle, lowering until the head of Jack’s member brushes teasingly against his slick cheeks. Jack lets out a tight breath, hands digging into the sheets from where Rhys’ has him pinned

* * *

Before long Jack is laying flat on his back in bed, the soft hotel comforters rucked up all around him. The light from the city below glows faintly on the contours of Rhys’ muscles as they work sensually with his movements.

He would have never thought he’d seen something more beautiful than Rhys’ routine, but this,  _this_  is on a whole other level entirely.  

“Jack, I…ah… _ah!_ ” Rhys whimpers as he sinks his ass down over Jack’s cock, his warm walls tightening over Jack’s length in a way that makes the older man hiss and grit his teeth with pleasure.

“Shh…I got you, kitten…c’mon…show me what you got.” Jack whispers soothingly to Rhys, rubbing his hands up Rhys’ legs and holding tight on his hips, encouraging him downwards as Rhys sinks further and tighter onto his coach’s cock.

Rhys takes deep, steadying breaths as he sits fully onto Jack’s hips, lip quivering and knuckles tensing against Jack’s chest as he slowly acclimates to the stretch of Jack’s cock. He starts to rock his hips slowly, moving his ass up with a tight hiss before he shoves them back down, slowly setting up a rhythm as he impales himself over and over on that thick length.

Jack’s fingers dig into the soft meat of Rhys’ ass, clenching tighter every time the young skater pushes back down to the balls. His hips jerk up to meet Rhys’ every chance he can muster, bucking him up and down in a needy attempt to draw even more luscious, staccato moans from Rhys’ lips.

Jack can feel heat building in his stomach despite himself, and the movement of his hips grow more wild and desperate as he grows determined to get Rhys to release first. One of his hands shift from its tight hold on Rhys’ ass to grasp equally as rough around his cock, giving it a couple of short warm strokes before his cock is splattering against his own stomach.

Rhys’ cries of pleasure as he comes quickly squash the earlier score announcement down to second place as the best thing Jack has ever heard in his entire life.

Jack’s body tenses as he’s washed with utter pleasure, and for the first time in recent memory all trace of pain is scoured from his body as he jerks his hips up and comes deep inside of Rhys.

Rhys collapses against Jack not long after, the exhaustion and exhilaration of the day finally catching up to him as he breathes heavily against Jack’s chest. He’s content to pet the kid, letting his cock slip out and flop against his thigh as he rubs his hands over the young man’s heaving back, soothing him until he’s breathing evenly again. As a last act of kindness Jack lets Rhys rest as he goes about cleaning up, tossing the condom and wiping up their respective crotches before he settles back into bed.

Jack holds Rhys from behind, spooning the young man close to him and occasionally pressing kisses against his shoulder as the young man lulls softly into sleep. Jack can see the outside world through the window above Rhys’ shoulder, and as he watches small flecks of snow, glowing with the light from the city below, fall from the sky.

Rhys shifts in his arms, a happy, nonsensical little noise spilling from his lips as he snuggles backwards against Jack.

And though Jack is sure in the morning he’ll come to regret this, right now, he can’t deny that It feels good.

No, wait.

It feels like  _victory_.


End file.
